Saturday, July 7, 2012

Scars

When you think about it, well, it's almost laughable in an insane, sad-to-the-point-of-tears way.

Here we are, a group of people who are lacking.

Yes, lacking. Own it. Here we are, we who carry deep scars, who carry loss... and we are trying to make more out of ourselves.

Amazing. Simply amazing.

I meet women who have spent their entire lives being filled with fear over childbirth. Every image, every word, every reference and memory in their lives has told them that birth is scary, painful, dangerous and that their bodies are defective, misshapen and unpredictable. And somehow, they are going to "trust birth" and "try for a home birth."

I meet women who have NEVER seen a child nurse at the breast. They read about it in books, and nowadays they look at photos and videos online. Their moms were formula fed, they were formula fed, and everyone around them was formula fed (or hidden away) and now, they are going to breastfeed. Not only breastfeed, but they are going to overcome myths, false medical advice, harassment, nosy relatives and all the many other boobie traps in our culture.

Most of my friends who protected their children from circumcision have never even seen an intact penis until their sons were born. And they are going to raise these intact children. They are going to go through natural retraction, and deal with fiddling relatives or touching pediatricians who try to push surgery every step of the way.

Why do you think vaccines are so popular? Parents don't even know what the vaccine name stands for, let alone what the diseases are, how they are transmitted, how to identify them, how to treat them and how to prevent complications. And now they aren't vaccinating.

People are scarred, perhaps physically as well as mentally, emotionally and spiritually, by the parental discipline they received. They learned to obey or be hurt. And somehow they are supposed to have deep, permanent, intimate relationships with open communication?

Collective, human knowledge was wiped from our culture. And somehow, people are going to continue forward. Are we crazy? Is this possible? Are you already feeling anxiety, growing in the pit of your stomach? Do you feel the edges of darkness pushing against you, the whispers of doubt, telling you it's futile?

Here's one of the many reasons I dislike receiving praise for my work on here. I grew up in a completely different culture. BTDT (Been There, Done That).

I'm not a rockstar for birthing at home and raising intact children. I'm not a crazy genius for spotting an illness and treating it before it becomes serious. I'm not a supermom for feeling laidback or knowing what to do in parenting scenarios.

No, you women who are creating something out of nothing, who are paving a way without any support, or food for the journey so to speak, without that mother to guide you or that internal reference and childhood memory to direct you...no....you are the women who are amazing.You are the women who are courageous. You are the women who are rockstars and superheros.

I grew up caring for intact children. I grew up experiencing and learning about vaccine related illnesses. I grew up watching breastfeeding and homebirthing and bedsharing.

On here, I feel as if I'm in an odd place. I carry scars and yet I've been given something. I come back to this, unsure of what I'm supposed to do with it. My mom punitively parented me for several years before she grew and changed, creating love out of nothing. I had a traumatic birth. I was injured by vaccines. Formula fed. All that random stuff. And then everything shifted.

I watched my mom create something out of nothing. I watched her breastfeed when she had never seen it, when no one around her permitted it. I watched her raise intact sons when everyone else despised her for it. I watched her learn about vaccines in a world that shunned information.

I come back to this one moment.

My dad was down the hallway, in the bathroom, washing his hands. I was by my mom's side when she birthed, alone, trusting her body. I sat in the corner of that room, dark, quiet, late. I listened to her whisper for comfort and strength. "Hail Mary," she whispered. "You are the Mother of God," she said, her lips barely moving. "Please, I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know where I'm going. But I'm going somewhere away from all this darkness." My mom, without a mom (at least on this earth) to guide her, without supportive friends or a helpful culture or an evidence-based doctor or a parenting guru who sells books or the internet and Facebook, found her way. She found her way to happiness, peace and love and she brought her children to that place.

And I'm standing here today to tell all of you that no matter how deeply your scars run, your ability runs deeper. No matter how dark it is, you DO know the way out. My mom found the way. I watched her. I know.